r* 


THE  ROSE-BUSH  OF  A 
THOUSAND  YEARS 


UNIV.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  A 


,TT^*^W^^^ 


4  •  *• 


Joline  thanked  God  that  her  eyes  had  seen  and  her  hands 
had  touched  the   Rose-bush  of  a  Thousand   Years. 


Frontispiece 


THE  ROSE-BUSH  OF  A 
THOUSAND  YEARS 

BY 

MABEL  WAGNALLS 

AUTHOR   OP  "MISERERE'"   (TRANSLATIONS  PUBLISHED   m 
GERMANY  AND  POLAND),  "THE   PALACE  OF   DANGER" 
(TRANSLATIONS  PUBLISHED  SERIALLY  AND  IN  BOOK- 
FORM     IN    GERMANY    AND     SWEDEN),     "KARINA 

DONIMIRSKA"   (TRANSLATION  PUBLISHED  IN 

GERMANY),    "STARS   OF   THE    OPERA," 

"SELMA  THE  SOPRANO,"  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED 

WITH   EIGHT  FULL   PAGE  REPRODUCTIONS   FROM 
THE   MOTION-PICTURE   DRAMA 


Second  Edition 
FUNK   &  WAGNALLS   COMPANY 

NEW   YORK   AND    LONDON 
1919 


COPYRIGHT,  1918,  BY 

FUNK  &  WAGNALLS  COMPANY 

[Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America] 

Copyright  Under  the  Articles  of  the  Copyright  Convention 

of  the  Pan- American  Republics  and  the 

United  States,  August  11,  1910 

Published,  May ,  1918 


PUBLISHERS'   NOTE 

THE  Story  in  Part  I  of  this  book  has 
a  somewhat  unusual  history.  It  first 
appeared  in  "Snappy  Stories,"  having 
found  its  way  into  that  magazine 
through  an  agent.  It  was  published 
within  three  weeks  of  its  acceptance  in 
the  second  October  number,  1916.  So 
original  was  the  theme  of  the  story,  that 
the  editor  of  "Current  Opinion"  re 
quested  permission  to  republish  it  in  his 
magazine,  where  it  appeared  the  fol 
lowing  December.  It  was  promptly 
included  and  double-starred  in  E.  J. 
O'Brien's  book,  "Best  Short  Stories  of 
1916."  The  author  at  once  began  re 
ceiving  requests  for  the  motion  picture 
rights  and  by  January  1,  1917,  these 
were  sold — all  happening  within  three 
months. 

Not  the  least  unusual  part  of  the  his 
tory  is  the  way  it  came  into  the  hands 
5 


2133376 


PUBLISHERS'    NOTE 

of  its  eventual  purchaser,  a  young  law 
yer — a  stranger — having  no  connection 
with  literary  agencies  or  motion  picture 
firms.  He  picked  up  haphazard  a  copy 
of  "Current  Opinion"  to  read  on  the 
train.  The  title  of  the  story  attracted 
him;  he  read  it  and  was  so  impressed 
with  its  dramatic  possibilities  that  on  his 
arrival  in  New  York  he  decided  to  take 
a  risk.  Going  straight  to  the  telephone, 
he  called  up  the  author  and  offered  her 
a  cash  sum  for  the  rights.  He  won  out 
against  four  firms  who  had  been  in  the 
field  before  him  and,  as  events  proved, 
had  no  reason  to  regret  it.  He  resold 
the  screen  rights  to  the  Metro  Picture 
Company  who  bought  it  for  their  star 
Madame  Nazimova.  With  compara 
tively  few  changes,  it  was  adapted  into 
the  now  famous  photoplay,  REFELA- 
TION,  a  play  that  has  called  forth 
unanimous  and  unusual  commendation 
from  the  critics ;  papers  that  seldom  give 
notice  to  the  film  world  having  gone 
out  of  their  way  to  praise  it.  "Life" 
6 


PUBLISHERS'    NOTE 

calls  it  "an  unusual  demonstration  of  the 
legitimate  dramatic  possibilities  of  the 
moving  picture" ;  while  the  sedate  "Jour 
nal  of  Commerce"  proclaims  it  "a  truly 
great  picture." 

Thanks  are  due  the  Metro  Company 
for  permission  to  reproduce  for  illustra 
tion  some  of  the  scenes  from  the  play, 
showing  Madame  Nazimova  in  her  re 
markable  characterization  of  Joline. 

The  cover  design  is  taken  from  an 
actual  photograph  of  the  historic  thou 
sand-year-old  Rose-Bush  in  the  monas 
tery  garden  of  Hildesheim. 


'AUTHOR'S    PREFACE 

IT  was  during  my  student  days  in 
Europe  that  I  chanced  upon  the  ancient 
Rose-Bush  of  Hildesheim.  So  remote, 
so  other-worldly  was  the  picture  of  peace 
it  presented  in  its  dreamy  setting  among 
lowly  graves  in  the  cloistered  garden  of 
the  monastery  that  it  left  an  unforget- 
able  vision  among  my  girlhood's  fan 
cies.  The  memory  of  that  strangely 
tranquil  spot  nested  in  a  world  of  hu 
man  struggle  abided  with  me  hauntingly 
and  long  afterward  shaped  itself  into 
the  following  story.  If  by  any  chance 
I  have  succeeded  in  imparting  to  others 
a  slight  sense  of  the  trance-like,  tender 
joy  that  garden  gave  to  me,  I  shall  feel 
greatly  gratified. 

M.  W. 


CONTENTS 

FACE 

PUBLISHERS'  NOTE        ....       5 
AUTHOR'S  PREFACE      ....       9 


PART   I 
THE  STORY         ...  .17 

PART   II 
THE  SEQUEL 51 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Joline  the  penitent  ....      Frontispiece 

FACING   PAGE 

Joline   the  model 20 

The  brisk  young  chap 24 

The  peace  of  the  garden 32 

Planning  to  surprise  the  Prior     ...   36 

Joline  in  the  monastery 40 

A  Magdalene  in  tears 44 

Joline's  new  life 64 


PART  ONE 
THE    STORY 


Part  I 
THE    STORY 

JOLINE  had  been  posing  as  a  Bac 
chante.     The  sitting  was  over,  and 
she  had  changed  from  her  costume  be 
fitting  the  woods  of  Arcady  to  one  de 
signed  for  the  Bois  de  Boulogne. 

Joline  was  petite  and  brunette.  Na 
ture  had  done  much  for  her,  and  the 
beauty-shops  of  Rue  de  la  Paix  had  done 
more.  Her  pink  finger-nails  vied  in 
luster  with  the  dozen  or  more  diamonds 
that  weighted  her  hands.  She  was  dain 
tily  powdered  and  penciled  and  painted 
and  perfumed.  Her  lips  were  seduc 
tively  reddened.  Hers  were  in  more 
senses  than  one  "the  bought  red  mouth" 
of  Ernest  Dawson's  muse,  though  the 
ruddy  lips  he  had  in  mind  were  probably 
nursing  at  their  mother's  breast  at  the 
time  Joline  was  rouging  he-rs.  Joline 
17 


THE   ROSE-BUSH   OF 

and  the  Jardin  Mabille  were  contem 
poraries,  and  it  was  from  this  hothouse 
of  deadly  night-blooms  that  she  had 
blossomed  forth.  Any  guide-book  of 
the  early  eighties  will  describe  the  noto 
rious  Jardin  for  you. 

Granville  had  found  her  there,  had 
been  fascinated,  and  had  transplanted 
her  to  his  studio,  where  she  was  always 
introduced  as  his  model;  and  in  truth 
she  served  very  creditably  in  that  capac 
ity.  She  was  a  good-hearted  little  crea 
ture  —  at  least,  so  thought  Granville. 
She  would  pose  for  him  by  the  hour 
with  the  utmost  patience.  He  never  sus 
pected  that  a  furious  jealousy  prompted 
this  amiability.  The  thought  of  any 
other  woman  holding  his  gaze,  and  per 
haps  eventually  his  heart-strings  and 
purse-strings,  was  to  Joline  a  perpetual 
terror. 

Thus  far  she  had  reigned  supreme; 
and  she  enjoyed  life  accordingly. 

She  was  lolling  now  in  a  chaise- 
longue,  toying  with  a  wine-glass  and 
18 


A  THOUSAND   YEARS 

absently  watching  Granville  cover  his 
picture. 

"The  Bacchante  is  nearly  finished; 
what  comes  next?"  she  asked  idly. 

"Something  very  different,"  was  the 
non-committal  reply. 

"What  is  it?"  she  persisted,  languidly 
reaching  for  a  match  to  light  a  cigarette. 

There  was  a  pause;  Granville  busied 
himself  with  a  cigarette  of  his  own,  and 
then  flung  himself  onto  a  chair  near  the 
table  at  her  side. 

"Well,  if  you  must  know — it's  a  Ma 
donna." 

"A  Madonna!  Bless  his  heart — a 
Madonna !"  She  spoke  mockingly  and 
smiled  witchingly.  "What's  the  setting? 
Angels  and  cherubs  and  dear  old  Saint 
Joseph?  Do  you  know,  he's  always 
been  my  ideal  of  a  perfect  gentleman !" 

But  Granville  answered  very  seri 
ously:  "There  will  be  no  angels  and  no 
Joseph — only  a  bush  by  a  roadside." 

"A  bush  by  a  roadside !  Where's  the 
bush,  and  where's  the  roadside  ?"  Joline 
19 


THE   ROSE-BUSH   OF 

blew  a  wreath  of  smoke  and  swung  her 
right  foot  as  it  hung  over  her  left  knee. 

Granville  became  explicit  and  worked 
himself  up  to  enthusiasm  as  he  expati 
ated  on  his  subject.  uThe  roadside  no 
longer  exists,  but  the  bush,  marvelous  to 
relate,  is  still  there  and  thriving.  I  am 
thrilled  whenever  I  think  of  it.  That 
bush  is  a  thousand  years  old,  at  least,  so 
they  say.  That  many  years  ago,  accord 
ing  to  the  story,  a  weary  monk  rested 
under  its  shade  and  slept.  When  he 
awoke,  the  Holy  Mother  appeared  to 
him,  standing  among  the  roses.  Later 
a  church  was  built  around  the  rose- 
tree  and  is  standing  there  to-day.  I 
intend  to  paint  the  legend  on  the  spot." 

"Where's  the  spot?"  persisted  Joline. 

"In  Hildesheim,  a  tiny  medieval  town 
a  hundred  miles  from  here." 

"Jolly!  That  means  a  journey.  When 
do  we  go?" 

"I  am  not  sure  that  we  go  at  all,"  he 
answered  quietly,  though  with  inward 
misgivings. 

20 


A   THOUSAND   YEARS 

"But  you  will  need  a  model." 
"I  shall  not  want  you  for  that." 
Joline  sat  upright,  her  eyes  blazing. 
"Why?" 

Granville  was  so  ungallant  as  to  smile 
when  he  answered,  "Simply  because — 
it's  a  Madonna." 

Joline  was  furious,  but  too  wise  to 
show  it.  She  pouted  with  a  playful  in 
jured  air.  "So  you  think  I  won't  do 
for  a  Madonna !"  Then  she  looked  up 
at  him,  smiling  her  sauciest.  "That's  be 
cause  you've  never  really  seen  me  play 
the  saint.  I  might  try  it  suddenly  and 
astonish  you,," 

She  blew  a  wreath  of  smoke  into  his 
eyes  and  then  threw  him  a  kiss.  "You 
don't  know  me,  mon  ami;  and  you  don't 
know  so  very  much  about  the  Virgin 
Mary,  either.  Take  away  her  halo  and 
her  company  of  angels — she  wouldn't 
look  very  different  from  other  women. 
If  I  were  always  surrounded  by  a  group 
of  solemn  saints  instead  of  joyous  sin 
ners,  you  would  find  yourself  making 
21 


THE   ROSE-BUSH   OF 

the    sign    of    the    cross    whenever    we 
met!" 

Granville  smiled  admiringly,  but  re 
mained  obdurate.  "You  won't  do  for 
my  Madonna." 

UI  will  do  for  your  Madonna,"  she 
retorted  sharply,  but  quickly  guarded 
her  tone.  "Honestly,  dearie,  I  can  look 
as  holy  as  a  relic.  I  was  once  an  angel  in 
the  apotheosis  scene  of  'Faust,'  and  they 
all  said  I  was  more  rapt  and  hallelujah- 
looking  than  any  in  the  crowd.  You 
see,  white  draperies  have  such  a  lot  to 
do  with  it.  Any  woman  looks  innocent 
in  a  white  veil." 

For  two  days  she  pouted  and  pleaded, 
then  threatened  and  sulked.  She  worked 
herself  into  a  temper,  stamped  her  foot, 
flung  things  around,  smashed  some  bric- 
a-brac,  and  came  alarmingly  near  to 
slashing  one  of  Granville's  paintings. 

In  the  end,  of  course,  she  had  her 
way,  and  then  became  at  once  so  ador 
ably  gentle   and  loving  that  Granville 
almost  convinced  himself  that  she  did 
22 


THOUSAND  YEARS 

look  a  bit  celestial;  enough  so  at  least 
for  his  Madonna. 

Three  weeks  later  they  located  in 
Hildesheim's  best  hotel. 

Granville  went  at  once  to  the  ancient 
monastery  whose  cloistered  halls  sur 
rounded  the  little  garden  and  graveyard 
where  grew  the  famous  bush.  They 
showed  him  the  peaceful  enclosure :  it 
filled  him  with  inspiration.  They  also 
showed  him  a  set  of  rules,  which  filled 
him  with  dismay,  for  one  of  these  (in 
those  days  rigidly  enforced)  prohibited 
women  visitors.  Granville  had  set  his 
heart  on  making  at  least  one  sketch 
with  his  Madonna  standing  among  the 
branches  of  the  genuine  bush.  This 
would  give  him  the  proper  atmosphere, 
the  needed  inspiration  and  thrill.  Of 
course  the  main  work  on  the  picture 
could  be  done  at  some  wayside  nook 
more  resembling  the  setting  of  the 
legend. 

The  firm  refusal  to  allow  any  woman 
inside  of  the  gates  greatly  depressed 
23 


THE   ROSE-BUSH   OF 

Granville,  but  when  Joline  heard  of 
it  she  solved  the  difficulty  in  two 
minutes. 

"Smuggle  me  in  as  a  boy.  Just  take 
me  along  as  your  brother.  We'll  drive 
up  in  a  carriage,  and  unless  the  gate 
keeper  is  keener-eyed  than  any  of  the 
puffy  old  monks  I  have  ever  seen,  he 
won't  give  me  a  second  glance,  so  long 
as  I  wear  trousers.  Once  in  the  garden, 
if  the  place  is  vacant,  I  can  remove  my 
coat  and  hustle  those  Madonna  dra 
peries  about  me  in  no  time." 

But  could  they  count  on  being  alone 
in  the  garden?  Granville  made  in 
quiries  and  was  assured  that  from 
twelve  until  three  the  monks  were  always 
in  the  refectory  or  chapel,  and  he  would 
be  undisturbed.  Still  he  hesitated,  but 
Joline  was  fearless  and  .impulsive. 

"Even  if  they  discover  us  —  what 
then?  They  can't  eat  us.  It's  Lent 
now,  anyway — they  eat  only  fish.  Come 
on — don't  be  afraid." 

He  yielded  to  her  urging,  and  every- 
24 


A  THOUSAND   YEARS 

thing  worked  beautifully  so  far  as  they 
were  concerned.  The  gateman,  a  sleepy- 
eyed  monk,  gave  but  a  languid  nod 
to  the  brisk  young  chap  who  hurried 
through  ahead  of  Granville. 

Left  to  themselves  in  the  sunny  gar 
den,  Joline  soon  arrayed  herself  in  the 
blue  and  white  robes  of  Granville's  Ma 
donna.  With  her  dark,  well-waved  hair 
loosened  about  her  shoulders,  and  a 
proper  simplicity  of  expression  carefully 
assumed,  she  looked  indeed  very  Virgin- 
like.  Granville  posed  her  alongside  the 
famous  bush,  which  was  attached  to  the 
tower  wall.  One  of  her  hands  rested  on 
a  branch.  There  was  some  trouble  in 
adjusting  this  part  of  the  pose,  but  the 
artist  finally  hit  upon  the  one  particular 
angle  that  suited  him. 

"There  where  the  chip  is  out  of  the 
wall — keep  your  hand  on  that  spot 


or,  " 

-so. 


Joline  was  a  good  model:  she  could 
hold  a  pose  for  an  astonishing  length 
of  time.    Granville  worked  rapidly;  the 
25 


THE   ROSE-BUSH   OF 

sketch  progressed  splendidly.  He  was 
delighted  with  the  whole  idea.  Flecks 
of  sunshine  dotted  her  gown,  the  peace 
of  the  place  seemed  reflected  in  her  face. 
Joline  was  beautiful,  no  mistake  about 
that,  and  she  stood  so  still  that  a  bird 
came  and  sang  on  the  bough  she  was 
touching.  The  bough  was  bare  of  bud 
and  leaf;  gray  and  gaunt  with  age. 

Joline  and  the  bird  and  the  song  were 
young,  but  everything  else  was  old:  the 
graves  of  the  pious  brothers  sleeping  in 
the  shadow  of  the  walls  where  they  had 
lived,  the  cloistered  corridors  surround 
ing  the  little  garden,  the  squat,  square 
tower,  and  the  rose-bush  —  they  were 
pentury-old  companions — they  and  the 
sunlight — centuries  old.  The  peace  and 
the  stillness  were  so  profound  that  Jo- 
,line  felt  she  must  breathe  very  softly. 

The  time  was  nearly  up,  the  sketch 
well-nigh  completed,  Joline  after  several 
rest-pauses  was  still  divinely  posing, 
when  the  unforeseen  occurred. 

It  is  seldom  that  anything  unusual 
26 


A  THOUSAND  YEARS 

occurs  in  a  monastery:  the  rules  are  so 
rigid  that  one  need  only  peruse  them  to 
know  what  every  monk  at  a  certain  hour 
is  doing.  And  so,  true  to  the  book, 
every  monk  was  now  in  the  refectory — 
every  monk  save  one.  He  was  Brother 
Augustine — very  old  and  very  sick.  He 
was  somewhat  better  to-day,  but  still  lay 
on  his  cot  in  his  cell,  and  was  forbidden 
to  get  up  or  try  to  walk. 

But  Brother  Augustine  did  get  up  and 
did  walk.  He  had  one  fierce  desire :  he 
wanted  once  again  to  kneel  before  the 
blessed  rose-bush  before  he  died.  He 
felt  that  his  end  was  nearer  than  the 
others  knew  His  wish  would  not  be 
granted  for  the  asking:  they  would 
fear  to  overtire  him. 

So  Brother  Augustine  disobeyed  for 
the  first  time  since  he  had  taken  orders. 
While  the  others  were  at  dinner,  this 
feeble,  wan,  and  ancient  monk  tottered 
from  his  couch,  and,  feeling  his  way 
along  the  stone  walls,  left  his  cell  and 
slowly  crept  down  the  vacant  vaulted  hall 
27 


THE   ROSE-BUSH   OF 

to  the  familiar  airy  cloister.  Brother 
Augustine  shuffled  on  as  fast  as  he  could 
till  he  came  to  the  three  steps  leading  to 
his  beloved  garden.  He  descended  these 
with  great  care,  his  mind  and  eyes  and 
hands  wholly  absorbed  in  the  effort. 

A  moment  later  he  was  in  the  path 
way  facing  the  blessed  bush,  and  there 
his  ecstatic  gaze  apparently  beheld  no 
less  a  vision  than  the  Holy  Mother 
herself,  in  peace  and  beauty  glancing 
heavenward. 

"Blessed  Mary,  have  mercy!"  he 
cried,  falling  to  his  knees  in  prayer. 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  Joline 
looked  down,  and  the  next  moment  saw 
the  old  monk  fall  in  a 'faint. 

Quickly  she  called  Granville,  who, 
rushing  to  the  prostrate  man,  made  sure 
he  was  breathing.  Then  Joline,  ever 
practical,  proposed  immediate  flight. 
The  sound  of  a  distant  bell  and  ap 
proaching  voices  prompted  Granville 
to  follow  her  advice.  In  a  trice  she 
had  disposed  of  the  Madonna  costume, 
28 


rolled  up  her  hair  under  the  boyish 
cap,  grabbed  her  coat,  and  they  were 
off. 

As  for  Brother  Augustine,  his  fellow- 
monks  found  him  still  unconscious.  He 
was  carried  to  his  cot  and  tenderly 
watched  over.  Late  that  night  the  gen 
tle  patriarch  breathed  his  last,  but  not 
before  he  had  sufficiently  recovered  to 
tell  them  of  his  vision  in  the  garden. 
There  was  glory  in  the  old  monk's  face, 
and  Heaven  in  his  voice,  as  he  told 
of  the  radiant  Mary  appearing  to  him 
among  the  branches  of  the  holy  bush. 
"It  will  flower  this  spring — mark  well 
my  words,  the  sacred  bush  will  blos 
som." 

Thus  spoke  Brother  Augustine  with 
his  final  breath,  and  the  death-dew  on 
his  brow. 

Of  course,  Joline  —  gay,  rippling, 
giddy,  sans  gene  Joline — was  unaware 
that  the  frail  old  monk  was  dying.  She 
was  very  keenly  aware,  however,  that 
he  had  knelt  at  her  feet  and  fancied 
29 


THE    ROSE-BUSH    OF 

her  the  real  Madonna;  and  great  was 
the  merriment  she  derived  therefrom. 
During  the  drive  to  the  hotel,  and  all 
that  evening,  it  was  the  recurrent  theme 
of  her  talk. 

"And  you  said  I  couldn't  look  like  a 
Madonna!  When  you  find  another 
model  for  the  Holy  Mother  who  looks 
so  genuine  she  is  mistaken  for  the  lady 
herself,  I'll  resign  my  position — e t  voila 
tout!  'Blessed  Mary' — that's  what  he 
called  me!" 

"Joline,  do  hush  your  irreverence," 
grumbled  Granville.  But  a  young  De 
lilah  direct  from  the  Place  de  1'Opera  is 
not  easily  awakened  to  reverence. 

"It's  you  who  lack  reverence,"  she 
answered  gaily,  tossing  a  bread-crumb 
his  way :  they  were  seated  at  a  tiny  table 
in  front  of  the  hotel.  "Why  don't  you 
reverence  that  old  monk's  testimony? 
If  a  father  of  the  Church,  nigh  a  hun 
dred  years  old,  doesn't  know  what  the 
Madonna  looks  like,  who  does?" 

Granville  lingered  on  in  Hildesheim 
30 


A  THOUSAND   YEARS 

for  a  couple  of  months,  painting  furi 
ously  all  the  time  at  his  great  picture. 

In  June  something  not  stated  in  the 
rules  again  happened  in  the  monastery: 
the  old  monk's  prophecy  came  true!  The 
rose-bush  bloomed  anew  after  a  dozen 
barren  years.  This  wonder  was  prompt 
ly  coupled  with  the  old  man's  vision  of 
the  Virgin,  and  the  tale  was  quickly 
spread.  Crowds  stood  agape  all  day  in 
the  square,  praying,  marveling,  discus 
sing,  and  soon  so  loud  was  the  acclaim, 
and  so  intent  the  desire,  that  ancient 
rules  were  relaxed :  the  monastery  gates 
were  opened  wide  to  women  as  well  as 
men  who  came  to  worship  the  miracu 
lous  bush  wherein  had  stood  Mary  the 
Virgin-Mother,  Queen  of  Heaven. 

The  news  was  not  slow  in  reaching 
Granville  and  Joline,  and  great  was  the 
hilarity  it  occasioned.  For  two  days  Jo- 
line  laughed  and  jested  and  hugged  her 
self  over  the  "mistaken  miracle."  Was 
ever  before  such  a  huge  joke  perpetrated 
by  an  unwitting  little  hard-worked  model 
31 


THE   ROSE-BUSH   OF 

on  a  company  of  walled-up  mumbling 
monks ! 

But,  unfortunately,  the  "joke"  was 
walled-up  as  well  as  the  monks :  no  one 
but  Granville  knew  of  it.  In  Joline's 
eyes  this  sadly  marred  its  brilliancy.  An 
impish  desire  possest  her  to  tell  of  the 
part  she  had  played.  She  finally  suc 
ceeded  in  cloaking  this  impulse  with  a 
semblance  of  virtue :  she  assured  her 
self  that  it  was  not  right  to  allow  the 
monastery  to  "foster  such  a  false 
hood."  She  believed  it  her  duty,  so 
she  told  Granville,  to  make  full  confes 
sion  to  the  Church,  or  the  prior,  or  the 
Pope,  or  whomever  would  hear  her. 
Granville  saw  no  merit  in  this  project. 
They  had  some  heated  words  over  the 
matter,  words  not  exactly  torrid  in  tem 
perature,  but  considerably  more  than 
tepid. 

They  changed  Joline's  plan  not  a 
whit.  She  dressed  herself  a  la  peni 
tents,  slammed  the  door,  and  went  out. 
She  hailed  a  fiacre,  fluttered  into  it,  and 
32 


The  peace  of  the  place  seemed  reflected  in  her  face. 

See  page  26 


A  THOUSAND   YEARS 

also  banged  its  door,  so  that  Granville 
should  hear  through  the  open  window. 
Then  she  rejoiced  in  the  noise  her  vehi 
cle  made  clattering  down  the  street. 

She  was  soon  in  front  of  the  massive 
cathedral  adjoining  the  monastery.  En 
tering  the  sanctuary,  she  informed  the 
wheezy,  whispering  priest  who  acted  as 
door-keeper  that  she  wished  to  make 
confession  to  the  prior  himself.  She 
was  told  in  breathy  tones  that  this  dig 
nitary  never  heard  confessions  from 
outsiders. 

After  some  more  questions  gaspingly 
answered,  she  induced  the  panting  priest 
by  means  of  a  large  donation  to  convey 
a  message  to  the  prior.  He  was  to  be 
told  that  the  confession  she  wished  to 
make  concerned  the  sacred  rose-bush, 
and  was  of  so  startling  a  nature  that  she 
believed  even  His  Holiness  at  Rome 
would  not  deem  it  unworthy  his  atten 
tion. 

Joline,  you  see,  was  still  in  her  high 
and  mighty  mood. 

33 


THE    ROSE-BUSH    OF 

The  old  priest  was  gone  a  long  time. 
She  sat  in  a  pew  and  waited.  Her 
thoughts  wandered  far  and  near  as  she 
sat  there,  immobile — just  waiting.  - 

It  was  many  years  since  Joline  had 
been  in  sight  of  a  high  altar  and  the 
sacred  candles.  Whenever  she  had  here 
tofore  visited  a  church,  it  had  been 
on  some  high-festival  day,  when  great 
crowds  disturbed  the  sense  of  peace. 
To-day  she  was  almost  alone  in  the  hal 
lowed  dimness  of  the  place — huge  and 
somnolent  with  incense  and  with  mystic 
colors  from  the  towering  windows. 

Joline  sat  still  and  waited. 

There  was  a  picture  over  the  altar; 
there  were  candles  below  it  and  a  crown 
above.  It  was  a  picture  of  the  Virgin 
Mary.  Joline  wondered  how  Granville's 
picture  would  look  over  an  altar;  she 
had  never  before  associated  it  with  any 
place  but  a  museum.  She  wondered  who 
had  posed  for  the  figure  in  this  old  paint 
ing — so  high  enshrined  and  placed  for 
worship. 

34 


A  THOUSAND  YEARS 

How  her  thoughts  kept  wandering  as 
she  sat  there  quite  still  and  waited ! 

An  old  woman  came  in  from  the  ves 
tibule,  shuffled  along  the  aisle,  crossed 
herself  as  she  faced  the  altar,  and  then 
knelt  in  prayer.  Occasionally  a  little 
bell  sounded  in  the  distance.  Nothing 
else  could  be  heard  as  Joline  sat  there 
perfectly  still  and  waited. 

Joline  looked  again  at  the  Madon 
na  above  the  candles.  Wouldn't  it  be 
strange,  she  thought,  if  years  from  now 
she,  too,  in  a  golden  frame,  should 
adorn  an  altar-niche,  where  kneeling 
supplicants  would  behold  her,  and  bow 
ing  priests  would  wave  incense  before 
her,  while  she  looked  down  from  above, 
serenely  posing  as  the  Mother  of  God. 

A  kind  of  chill  passed  over  Joline. 
Her  eyes  remained  fixed  on  the  altar  as 
she  sat  there  so  still  and  waited. 

Something  akin  to  awe  crept  upon 

her.  Joline  suddenly  realized  that  if  her 

painted  self  should  ever  be  raised  to 

that  holy  place  the  mockery  of  it  would 

35 


THE   ROSE-BUSH   OF 

stab  to  her  heart,  though  she  lay  ten 
feet  in  her  grave. 

While  still  strangely  moved  by  this 
thought,  a  hand  touched  her  shoulder. 
The  soft-stepping  priest  of  the  door 
motioned  her  to  follow  him.  The  prior 
had  consented  to  see  her. 

She  was  led  as  in  a  'dream  'neath 
solemn  arches,  through  echoing  corri 
dors,  past  praying  monks,  barefooted 
and  austere,  adown  stone  steps,  beyond 
grilled  gates — years  and  years  away,  it 
seemed,  from  the  noisy  world  of  the 
senses;  the  world  of  song  and  wine  and 
jest  that  she  had  always  known.  Sun 
shine  streamed  through  the  columned 
cloister,  but  it  seemed  no  longer  the 
sunshine  of  earth,  but  rather  the  efful 
gent  light  of  some  other  sphere. 

A  heavy  door  in  the  deep  stone  wall 
was  unbarred,  and  she  was  ushered  into 
the  entrance-hall  of  the  monastery. 

Although  the  main  door  was  so  for 
bidding,  other  doors  of  this  low  stone 
chamber  were  open,  and  so  were  the 
36 


A  THOUSAND   YEARS 

leaded  windows,  showing  a  glimpse  of 
the  garden.  Beside  a  tall  reading-desk 
whereon  lay  a  huge  open  book  stood 
a  gray-bearded  monk  clad  in  a  brown 
habit  tied  with  a  rope. 

The  guide  left  Joline  and  closed  the 
door  behind  him. 

The  old  man  now  turned  toward 
her;  never  in  her  life  had  she  seen  such 
all-wise,  kindly  eyes;  never  had  a  face 
so  thrilled  her  with  its  look  of  benign 
goodwill  and  peace. 

"What  is  it  you  would  tell  me, 
daughter?" 

"Daughter!"  No  one  had  ever  be 
fore  called  her  that;  she  had  no  mem 
ory  of  her  parents.  "Daughter!"  Jo- 
line  did  not  move  or  speak. 

"Is  your  sin  so  great  you  cannot  give 
it  words?" 

"Yes,"  came  forth  from  Joline's  lips, 
tho  she  had  no  conscious  intention  of 
saying  this  word.  Until  the  present 
moment  she  had  never  dreamed  of  call 
ing  her  light  transgression  of  the  mon- 
37 


THE   ROSE-BUSH   OF 

astery  rules  a  sin.  But  neither  had  she 
dreamed  that  her  own  voice  could  sound 
so  strange  and  unreal  as  it  did  in  this 
reverberating  room.  Another  person 
seemed  to  be  speaking  for  her. 

The  old  man  motioned  her  to  a  stool; 
he  still  remained  standing. 

"What  sin  can  you  have  to  relate  in 
connection  with  our  sacred  rose-tree?" 
He  crossed  himself  at  mention  of  the 
bush.  Joline  had  not  before  realized  the 
full  awe  and  reverence  in  which  that 
bush  was  held.  But  she  suddenly  braced 
herself  to  carry  out  her  purpose,  tho 
her  own  voice  still  frightened  her. 

"It  concerns  the  vision  of  Brother 
Augustine.  He  did  not  see  the  Holy 
Madonna.  It  was  I  who  stood  among 
the  branches." 

The  only  sign  of  agitation  the  good 
prior  betrayed  was  an  impulsive  grasp 
ing  of  the  cross  that  hung  at  his  side. 

"Tell  me  all,"  he  commanded  quietly. 

She  told  the  facts  in  full,  but  with 
none  of  the  relish  she  had  thought  she 
38 


A   THOUSAND   YEARS 

would  derive  from  making  this  revela 
tion.  It  was  all  very  solemn  and  rather 
painful. 

When  she  had  finished,  the  old  priest 
turned  slowly  about,  with  bowed  head 
and  still  holding  the  cross. 

"I  must  consider  this  in  solitude  and 
prayer.  Stay  here.  I  will  return  in 
half  an  hour,"  he  said,  and  softly  left 
the  room. 

While  he  was  gone  she  pictured  to 
herself  the  old  monk  alone  and  praying; 
talking  with  God,  as  he  believed;  con 
sulting  with  the  Almighty — about  her! 
She  remembered  a  time — eons  ago  it 
seemed — when  this  thought  would  have 
amused  her;  she  would  have  joked 
about  it  and  parted  her  reddened  lips 
in  a  ribald  laugh.  But  no — she  cor 
rected  herself — never  even  in  her  mad 
dest  mood  could  she  have  laughed  at 
thought  of  this  kind  old  priest,  had  she 
once  seen  his  gentle  glance  and  heard  his 
tender  tones.  There  was  a  power  in  his 
serenity  that  must  make  even  the  most 
39 


' 


THE   ROSE-BUSH   OF 

jocose  file  de  jole  give  pause  and  won 
der  if  there  might  not  indeed  come 
divine  response  to  the  prayer  of  such  a 
man.  And  so  Joline  wondered  now. 

She  had  not  long  to  wait.  Softly  and 
promptly  he  appeared  at  the  door.  He 
(looked  at  her  thoughtfully  for  a  mo 
ment,  his  wondrous  old  eyes  all-embrac 
ing  in  their  kindness.  He  still  held  the 
crucifix  clasped  with  both  hands  on  his 
breast. 

Joline  had  arisen  as  he  entered,  and 
bowed  her  head.  This  much  of  rever 
ence  came  over  her,  and  well  might  she 
bow  to  the  words  now  uttered  by  this 
inspired  man.  Slowly  and  gently  he  ad 
dressed  her: 

"My  child,  I  do  not  charge  you  with 
grave  sin  for  breaking  into  the  garden; 
you  were  thoughtless,  and  knew  not  its 
sanctity.  Nor  do  I  think  a  falsehood 
has  been  fostered  by  our  claim  of  a  mir 
acle  taking  place." 

He  paused  a  moment,  then  continued : 
"Our  blessed  Brother  Augustine  had  a 
40 


A  THOUSAND   YEARS 

vision  of  the  Virgin  in  our  holy  bush. 
You  were  standing  there,  it  is  true,  but 
his  dying  eyes  may  have  seen  something 
more  than  we  know  of.  I  would  not  say 
this  to  all  the  world — it  might  be  mis 
understood — but  I  truly  believe  there 
are  chosen  times  when  the  spirit  of 
the  Holy  Mother  herself  looks  forth 
through  the  eyes  of  some  good  woman." 

Joline  gave  a  gasp  and  staggered  a 
step  back,  as  though  struck.  Her  breast 
heaved  from  tremendous  emotion  as 
she  leaned  against  the  wall  for  support. 

The  old  monk  appeared  not  to  notice 
her  agitation,  but  continued  with  his 
quiet  words: 

"May  God  forgive  me  if  I  am  speak 
ing  wrong,  but  I  feel  it  to  be  true  that 
in  some  mysterious  way,  for  one  brief 
moment,  the  spirit  of  the  Holy  Mother 
shone  through  your  eyes  as  you  stood 
there  among  the  branches  of  the  rose- 
tree  she  has  blessed.  Else  why,  do  you 
suppose,  did  it  bloom  this  year?  Surely 
naught  but  the  warmth  of  her  beloved 
41 


THE   ROSE-BUSH   OF 

presence  could  have  given  it  new  life. 
Her  touch  has  revived  it.  Come  with 
me,  child :  I  will  show  you  the  proof  of 
her  visitation." 

He  turned  and  led  the  way  through 
the  open  door  into  the  brooding  cloister 
that  rimmed  the  garden.  Joline,  in 
wardly  troubled  and  torn  with  unfamil 
iar  fears  and  wonderment,  followed 
silently. 

"There  is  only  one  rose  open  now. 
We  did  have  three,  but — you  shall  see." 

The  gracious  guide  descended  the 
worn  steps,  emerging  into  the  little  en 
closure  of  graves  and  roses. 

Joline  glanced  toward  the  bush  and 
glimpsed  its  one  white  flower.  An 
amazed  cry  escaped  her.  She  rushed 
nearer,  and  looked  again.  That  rose 
was  against  the  wall  on  the  branch  by 
the  broken  plaster,  exactly  where  her 
hand  had  touched! 

"Blessed  Mary,  have  mercy!"  These 
words,  the  identical  ones  Brother  Au 
gustine  had  uttered,  now  fell  from  her 
42 


A  THOUSAND  YEARS 

own  lips,  and  a  moment  later  there  was 
a  woman  on  her  knees  in  that  garden :  a 
Magdalene  in  tears. 

"But,  kind  Father,"  she  sobbed,  "you 
don't  understand:  I  am — I  am — not  a 
good  woman.  I — am  a  sinner." 

Was  the  good  priest  shocked  or  dis 
turbed?  Not  at  all:  he  seemed  in  no 
wise  surprised,  but  answered  in  the  same 
even,  gentle  voice: 

"We  are  all  sinners,  my  good  daugh 
ter"  (still  he  called  her  "good";  re 
newed  tears  from  her  weeping  eyes 
moistened  his  hand  which  she  clasped  as 
he  extended  it  toward  her  in  benedic 
tion)  ,  "but  however  sinful  you  may  have 
been,  I  know  right  well  that  for  one 
bright  moment,  at  least,  you  were  good 
and  pure  of  heart.  When  you  stood 
'neath  the  branches  of  that  sacred  tree, 
your  thoughts  were  crystal  -  clear  and 
purged  of  every  evil  purpose.  Is  this 
not  true?  Recall  your  thoughts  when 
you  stood  there :  were  they  not  all  glad 
and  innocent?" 

43 


THE    ROSE-BUSH    OF 

Slowly  Joline  raised  her  eyes  in 
humble  acquiescence.  She  remembered 
well  that  sunny  hour,  her  quiet  thoughts, 
and  her  simple  joy  in  the  bird  that  sang 
near  her  hand.  A  smile  of  holy  grati 
tude  illumined  her  face  amid  her  tears; 
a  joy  deeper  than  any  she  had  ever 
known  swept  over  her  because  she  knew, 
and  this  priest  knew,  of  one  pure  hour 
in  her  life. 

"And  in  that  high  moment  our  blessed 
Brother  Augustine — God  rest  his  soul! 
— here  lies  his  grave — "  he  paused  to 
indicate  the  uncovered  mound — "in  that 
high  moment  of  your  life,  he  saw  the 
Madonna's  glory  in  your  eyes.  The 
bush  has  blossomed  just  as  he  said. 
There  can  be  no  doubt,  you  see,  that  a 
miracle  has  occurred." 

Truly  he  spoke,  this  wise  old  man, 
and  well  he  knew  the  import  of  his 
words;  a  miracle  had  indeed  oc 
curred. 

"As  for  your  sins,  my  child,  I  have 
learned  from  our  Redeemer  Himself 
44 


A  THOUSAND   YEARS 

the  message  to  be  given  you.  His  words 
are,  'Go,  and  sin  no  more.' ' 

He  silently  held  his  hand  over  her 
bowed  head,  then  turned  to  leave  the 
garden.  She  followed  him  to  the  barred 
oak  door,  which  he  slowly  opened.  As 
she  passed  him,  with  contrite,  broken 
mien,  his  final  words  rang  out  to  sing  in 
her  soul  forever: 

"I  have  no  fear  for  you,  my  daugh 
ter.  The  Madonna  has  chosen  you 
for  her  own.  She  will  bide  with  you 
always." 

A  moment  later  Joline  found  herself 
outside  the  cathedral:  a  new  woman — 
in  a  new  world. 

The  Cathedral-Platz  looked  different 
to  Joline;  she  had  seen  it  nearly  every 
day  for  three  months,  but  now  it  seemed 
like  the  open  page  of  a  great  book.  She 
read  enthralling  meanings  in  every  cor 
ner  of  its  medieval  architecture.  A 
,woman  was  drawing  water  at  the  old 
worn  well;  she  was  picturesque  in  her 
stiff  white  cap  and  red  woolen  bodice, 
45 


THE   ROSE-BUSH   OF 

but  to  Joline  her  work  was  far  more 
beautiful  than  her  looks:  she  was  doing 
useful  work,  drawing  water  to  quench 
the  thirsty,  to  cook  her  good  man's 
meal,  to  scrub  her  floor,  and  to  wash 
her  linen.  She  was  a  good  woman,  such 
as  the  Madonna  must  love. 

A  boy  shuffled  by  in  sabots,  carrying 
a  bag  of  oats  on  his  back:  he  too  was 
good,  because  he  was  a  participant  in 
the  world's  work,  a  tiny  cog  in  the  great 
social  system  that  keeps  the  wo^ld  fed. 

Joline  suddenly  perceived  the  mani 
fold  work  all  about  her :  in  the  old,  old 
houses  of  this  ancient  town  she  saw  and 
reverenced  the  work  well  done  of  labor 
ers  long  dead.  The  bell  in  the  dreamy 
tower  above  her  rang  out:  it  rang  true 
— good  work  well  done  long  ago  by 
some  maker  of  bells.  To  Joline  the 
whole  world  seemed  abrim  with  good 
work  and  good  people;  only  she  was 
evil — and  idle. 

She  was  still  standing  by  the  door  of 
the  cathedral,  facing  the  road  to  her 
46 


A  THOUSAND  YEARS 

hotel,  when  she  became  mindful  of  the 
fact  that  her  fiacre  was  waiting  where 
she  had  left  it  an  hour  ago.  She  drew 
out  her  purse  and  paid  the  man: 
she  did  not  wish  to  ride.  Then  she 
looked  at  her  purse:  it  was  of  meshed 
gold,  and  contained  gold  coins.  The 
thing  grew  hot  in  her  hand;  a  flame 
engulfed  her  face;  the  wages  of  sin 
scorched  her  soul.  She  looked  about 
her  and  a  moment  later  dropped  the 
purse  into  the  poor-box. 

Then    she    started    walking    slowly, 
thoughtfully — away  from  the  hotel. 


PART  Two 
THE    SEQUEL 


Part  II 
THE    SEQUEL 

JOLINE  had  not  a  plan  in  her  head, 
nor  a  penny  in  her  pocket,  but  in 
her  heart  was  a  memory  recent  and 
vivid,  the  priest's  words — "Go,  and  sin 
no  more." 

She  walked  on  and  soon  was  nearing 
the  suburbs;  the  houses  dwindled  in  im 
portance  and  frequency  until  she  was 
frankly  in  the  country  among  the  low, 
red-tiled  cottages  of  the  Hanoverian 
peasantry. 

She  sat  down  on  an  overturned  cart 
"by  the  roadside.  She  was  astonished  at 
herself  for  being  so  untroubled;  to  find, 
in  fact,  that  she  was  enjoying  this  esca 
pade.  Ah ! — that  was  the  reason !  She 
knew  there  was  a  mocking,  unregener- 
ate  spirit  somewhere  in  the  recesses  of 
51 


THE   ROSE-BUSH   OF 

her  being  that  regarded  the  entire  pro 
ceeding  as  an  "escapade." 

"You  will  'sin  no  more'  just  so  long 
as  the  sun  shines  bright,  and  you  are  not 
hungry." 

She  suddenly  clenched  her  hands : 

"I  will  go  on."  She  said  it  aloud  so 
vehemently  that  a  complacement  hen 
near  by  scurried  across  the  road  with 
stretched  neck  and  a  flurry  of  dust. 

She  walked  on,  always  in  the  same 
direction.  She  met  a  ruddy  woman 
wheeling  a  cartful  of  turnips;  her  broad 
smile  and  hearty  nod  warmed  Joline's 
very  soul.  She  felt  herself  worthy  of 
the  honest  woman's  greeting  and  glowed 
with  a  sudden  pride.  She  only  wished 
she  herself  were  pushing  a  load  of  tur 
nips.  She  felt  she  would  like  the  sen 
sation  of  using  her  muscles  —  pushing, 
lifting  or  pulling  to  some  good  pur 
pose. 

Ere  long  she  saw  a  woman  in  a  door- 
yard  washing  clothes.     A  small  child 
was  playing  on  the  ground  near  by. 
52 


A  THOUSAND   YEARS 

Joline  stood  at  the  fence,  watching 
longingly.  Something  on  the  kitchen 
stove  boiled  over.  The  woman  rushed 
in.  Then  the  child  hurt  itself  and  the 
woman  rushed  out — mothering,  scold 
ing,  hurrying. 

Joline  stepped  through  the  gate  and 
addressed  the  woman,  timidly. 

"If  I  do  the  washing,  will  you  give 
me  some  bread?" 

The  woman  looked  at  Joline  quizzi 
cally;  thought  her  a  most  peculiar  beg 
gar,  but  after  some  further  parleying, 
consented  to  the  bargain. 

"Come  on;  if  you'll  rub  them  clean." 

Joline  rushed  in,  pinned  up  her  dress, 
rolled  up  her  sleeves  and  doused  her 
hands  in  the  suds  with  all  the  joy  of 
a  boy  going  swimming.  The  woman, 
holding  the  child  in  her  arms,  watched 
Joline  from  the  doorway,  suspicious  and 
puzzled,  but  soon  convinced  that  this 
quixotic  vagrant  was  fully  bent  on  bring 
ing  light  to  dark  places  in  that  tubful 
of  linen.  Joline  felt  in  her  arms  the 
53 


THE   ROSE-BUSH   OF 

strength  of  one  who  goes  .forth  to  battle. 
To  wring  all  the  blackness  from  a  stout, 
reprobate  shirt,  to  shake  it  white  in  the 
sunshine,  was  like  making  a  conquest  of 
evil.  She  was  washing  the  sins  from 
her  own  soul. 

Little  did  the  broad-hipped  housewife 
within — who  every  few  minutes  peered 
curiously  through  the  window  at  this 
energetic,  stray  laundress  —  little  did 
she  dream  that  she  was  witnessing  a 
soul's  regeneration;  that  the  beads  of 
perspiration  decking  that  white  brow 
were  holy  as  any  baptismal  drops  be 
stowed  by  the  hands  of  a  priest. 

When  the  work  was  done  and  Joline 
sat  down  on  a  bench  to  rest,  the  woman 
came  out  smiling  and  jabbering  the  pro 
vincial  dialect  faster  than  Joline  could 
understand.  But  she  understood  the 
smile  and  also  the  huge  slice  of  rye  bread 
which  the  woman  handed  her,  together 
with  a  generous  mugful  of  home-made 
wine. 

"Here !"  she  exclaimed.  "You  earned 
54 


A   THOUSAND   YEARS 

something  more  than  the  bread.  Take 
this  and  be  refreshed." 

The  woman  suddenly  turned  and 
disappeared,  summoned  by  sounds  from 
within:  a  tumble  and  a  cry. 

So  Joline,  alone,  partook  of  the  first 
meal  of  her  life  she  had  honestly  earned. 
She  ate  slowly  of  the  bread  and  sipped 
the  wine.  It  became  to  her  as  a  solemn 
rite,  her  first  communion;  the  bread  and 
wine  of  honest  labor  and  an  upright 
life.  There,  in  the  sunshine,  in  homely 
proximity  to  a  washtub,  a  basin,  a  cluck 
ing  hen  and  a  potato-patch,  that  bread 
and  wine  were  received  by  Joline  as 
tho  coming  to  her  direct  from  the  priest 
of  the  sacred  Rose-bush. 

When  she  had  finished  she  thanked 
the  good  woman  and  started  on  her 
way,  always  in  the  same  direction. 

She  felt  rested  now,  athrill  with  the 
wonder  of  life  and  always  exalted  by 
the  memory  of  the  Madonna  mystery. 

Not  a  thought  of  fear  came  over 
Joline  even  now  in  the  growing  twi- 
55 


THE    ROSE-BUSH    OF 

light,  alone  on  the  highroad  with  no 
destination,  no  bed  awaiting  her  and  no 
coin  to  buy  one.  She  simply  went  on 
till  weariness  made  her  pause,  at  just 
the  right  spot  it  seemed.  An  open  sta 
ble  door  enticed  her;  she  looked  in; 
a  great  straw  pile  was  all  she  could 
discern.  It  was  all  she  needed.  Such 
blessed  fatigue  possessed  her  that,  throw 
ing  herself  down,  she  barely  became 
conscious  of  the  happy  thought  of  an 
other  stable  where  once  the  Madonna 
rested,  when  she  fell  asleep,  trusting  and 
contented. 

It  was  daylight  when  Joline  awoke. 
She  might  not  have  opened  her  eyes 
even  then  had  not  the  sound  of  voices 
aroused  her.  She  found  herself  facing 
an  audience,  an  astonished  family  of 
father,  mother,  aunt  and  two  children, 
eying  her  in  wonder.  The  father  had 
discovered  her  first,  then  summoned  his 
wife.  Curiosity  brought  the  aunt,  dis 
obedience  the  older  boy  who  had  been 
told  to  stay  in  the  house,  and  hunger 
56 


A  THOUSAND  YEARS 

the  younger  one  (in  his  mother's  arms). 
Joline,  with  cheeks  unrouged  and  hair 
unwaved,  was  still  good  to  look  upon, 
flushed  from  sleep  and  at  peace  with  the 
world.  She  sat  up  promptly,  smiling 
confidently  at  the  sabotted,  homespun 
group. 

"Why  are  you  here?"  the  man  asked, 
not  unkindly. 

"The  door  was  open  and  I  was  tired. 
I  had  walked  from  Hildesheim  —  and 
had  done  a  big  washing  besides." 

She  felt  proud  as  a  white  peacock 
when  adding  this  last  phrase.  Before 
their  slow-going  minds  could  interrupt 
her,  she  added: 

"I'll  wash  for  you  too,  if  you  will  let 
me,  to  pay  for  my  night's  bed,  some 
bread  and  a  cup  of  coffee." 

She  spoke  with  a  glow  of  assurance, 
as  one  who  had  learned  a  trade.  She 
did  not  ask  timidly  as  she  had  done  the 
day  before;  she  was  now  a  washer 
woman  of  some  experience. 

"But  where  are  you  going?  And  why 
57 


THE   ROSE-BUSH   OF 

are  you  alone?"  questioned  the  wife 
suspiciously. 

"I  had  a — place  in  Hildesheim — but 
I  left  it."  Joline  was  astonished  at  her 
own  glibness,  but  still  more  was  she  as 
tonished  at  the  plan  for  the  future,  all 
completed  and  mapped  out,  which  she 
suddenly  found  in  her  mind's  store 
room. 

"I  am  going  home." 

"Where  is  your  home?" 

"In  Brumath,  Alsace."  (She  was 
born  there  and  had  been  raised  in  a 
foundling  school.) 

"Alsace! — that  is  far  away!  How 
will  you  get  there?" 

"Walk  and  work."  Joline  stood 
up  now,  shaking  the  straw  from  her 
dress. 

"You  will  have  to  cross  the  moun 
tains."  The  sandy-bearded  farmer  said 
this  with  the  voice  of  wisdom;  he  was 
glad  to  have  his  wife  and  sister  hear 
that  he  knew  things  like  this. 

Joline  smiled,  thereby  winning  all 
58 


A   THOUSAND   YEARS 

hearts  save  that  of  the  slant-eyed  sister. 

"I  shan't  worry  about  them  till  I  get 
there.  I'm  more  worried  now  about 
something  to  eat,"  She  turned  toward 
the  forbidding  spinster: 

"May  I  wash  for  you,  or  scrub  a  floor 
to  earn  my  morning  meal?" 

"Well  —  I  suppose  so,"  the  flat- 
breasted  one  acceded,  grudgingly. 

The  women  filed  out  of  the  stable  to 
the  house. 

The  humble  little  home  looked  so 
immaculate  that  Joline  despaired  of 
there  being  any  work  for  her  to  do. 
But  this  only  proved  her  inexperience. 
It  soon  developed  that  five  copper  pans 
pendant  on  the  wall  were  disgracefully 
lack-luster  and  must  be  polished.  There 
were  also  a  couple  of  flyspecks  on  one 
of  the  windows,  and  the  hearthstone 
had  not  been  scrubbed  since  the  evening 
before.  Joline  was  put  to  these  tasks. 
She  was  whole-hearted  in  her  work,  but 
wofully  awkward:  the  good  wife  little 
wondered  that  she  had  to  leave  her  last 
59 


THE   ROSE-BUSH   OF 

place.     But  a  tolerable  breakfast  was 
earned  and  given  her. 

When  this  was  over  Joline  made 
ready  to  go,  but  at  the  door  she  turned 
back — hesitated — and  then  asked  tim 
idly  if  she  might  sit  on  the  step  and  hold 
the  baby — just  a  minute?  A  sudden 
longing  had  swept  over  her  —  a  wild 
desire  to  hold  that  baby.  He  was  a 
pudgy,  ruddy,  cuddling  little  chap,  and 
Joline  held  him  close  for  a  moment, 
then  looked  up  to  the  mother  and  made 
an  astonishing  confession: 

"I  have  a  baby  of  my  own !  He  was 
just  this  age  when  I  left  him!" 

This  was  all  too  true,  poor  girl.  She 
had  never  before  felt  the  enormity  of 
the  fact. 

"You  left  him!"  exclaimed  the  aston 
ished  mother.  "Where?" 

"In  Alsace.  I  am  going  back  to  him 
now." 

"And  where's  your  man?" 

Joline  lowered  her  head:     "I  don't 
know.    I  have  none." 
60 


A  THOUSAND  YEARS 

An  instant  later  the  child  was  vio 
lently  snatched  from  her  arms,  and  a 
raucous  voice  hurled  maledictions  upon 
her;  it  was  the  angular,  close-mouthed 
aunt  who  thus  broke  in  upon  the  situa 
tion. 

"A  pretty  piece  you  are,  trailing  alone 
around  the  country,  walking  into  honest 
women's  houses  pretending  you  want 
work !  Just  you  hustle  out  of  here !  No 
room  for  such  as  you  in  this  region! 
You're  a  good-for-nothing  baggage ! — 
and  that's  what  you  are !" 

Joline,  with  flushed  face  and  tears  in 
her  eyes,  was  at  first  impelled  to  fly 
away  from  the  tirade  and  hide  her  dis 
graced  head;  but  suddenly  she  recalled 
the  priest's  gentle  message;  he  also 
knew  her  sins!  She  waited  till  the 
panting  woman  on  the  doorstep  was  out 
of  breath  and  then  answered  quietly: 

"I  have  sinned,  but  God  knows  and 
the  Holy  Virgin  knows  I  have  repented. 
That's  why  I  am  walking  now  to  Al- 


61 


THE   ROSE-BUSH   OF 

She  turned  away  from  the  women, 
and  walked  sorrowfully  around  the 
house,  down  the  path  to  the  gate,  which 
she  opened  slowly.  Suddenly  there  was 
a  rush  of  quick  footsteps  behind  her, 
and  a  voice : 

"Wait  a  moment." 

She  turned  and  saw  the  mother  hold 
ing  out  her  child  for  a  final  embrace, 
and  an  apple  she  had  hastily  grabbed 
as  a  peace-offering.  Joline  kissed  the 
child — and  then  broke  down  with  sobs 
of  purest  gratitude.  She  thanked  the 
woman  with  looks  more  than  words, 
and  then  suddenly  found  herself  in  the 
woman's  arms,  embraced  with  all  the 
warmth  and  pity  of  a  life-long  friend. 
The  whole  world's  wealth  could  not 
have  comforted  Joline  and  strengthened 
her  as  did  that  humble  farm-wife's  im 
pulsive  embrace. 

"You   do   believe   me — don't  you?'* 

she  pleaded  again  and  again.     "I  am 

going  to  be  a  good  woman.    I  am  going 

to  my  baby;  I  am  going  to  work  for  him 

62 


A   THOUSAND   YEARS 

and  pray  for  him  and  live  for  him  and 
make  him  a  good  boy.  You  do  believe 
me — don't  you?" 

"Yes — yes — of  course,  and  God  bless 
you,"  was  the  hearty  reply. 

With  broken  words  of  thanks,  Joline 
at  last  tore  herself  away,  looking  back 
many  times  to  wave  her  hand  to  the 
mother  and  child  leaning  on  the  gate. 

And  as  she  looked,  Joline  swayed  un 
der  the  might  of  a  sudden  thought;  per 
haps  she,  too,  like  Father  Augustine, 
was  beholding  a  vision  of  the  Madonna  ! 
It  was  easy  enough  to  believe  that  the 
spirit  of  the  Holy  Mother  was  shining 
through  the  eyes  of  that  blessed  peasant- 
woman  with  her  baby  leaning  upon  the 
gate  in  an  immensity  of  unconscious 
heart-goodness  that  verily  amounted  to 
sainthood. 

The  world  was  all  gold  to  Joline  as 
she  wandered  on  that  day. 

On  she  went,  always  onward,  toward 
Alsace,  only  pausing  when  she  found 
work  for  a  week  or  more. 
63 


THE   ROSE-BUSH   OF 

She  grew  fearless  of  the  road  and  of 
solitude.  Most  of  all  she  loved  the 
highway  when  the  friendly  stars  ap 
peared.  She  learned  to  look  for  them 
and  know  them,  till  at  last  she  joyed  in 
the  fancy  that  she  was  following  one  of 
them — her  Star  of  the  East — that  was 
leading  her  on  and  on  to  where  a  babe, 
her  very  own,  was  lying  in  a  crib. 
Strange — she  had  never  before  felt  the 
mother-yearning  so  strong  within  her. 
She  had  thought  her  duty  done  in  send 
ing  a  regular  remittance  to  the  sturdy 
foster-mother  with  whom  the  child  had 
been  left. 

But  now  her  whole  being  reached  out 
to  the  one  creature  in  all  the  world  that 
was  her  very  own.  She  had  a  purpose 
in  life  now;  someone  to  work  for  and  to 
love.  She  and  the  boy  would  be  a  little 
community  in  themselves — a  family — 
such  as  she  saw  on  every  side  of  her. 
She  would  work  and  work  until  she 
owned  a  little  cottage  all  their  own; 
then  she  could  stand  at  the  doorway, 
64 


A  THOUSAND  YEARS 

evenings,  with  the  boy  at  her  side  when 
work  was  done,  and  nod  a  hearty  "good 
day"  to  the  stray  wanderer  passing  by, 
as  happy  housewives  now  did  to  her. 
And  she  would  tell  the  boy  of  the  Ma 
donna,  and  teach  him  the  joy  of  honest 
labor  and  a  pure  heart. 

Thus  she  dreamed  as  she  walked,  and 
dreams  long  dwelt  on  amount  to  pray 
ers,  and  prayers  wrought  in  faith  come 
true. 

Joline  reached  her  home-town,  and 
found  her  boy.  He  was  taller  by  a  foot 
or  more  than  she  had  pictured  him,  but 
oh  the  joy  of  claiming  him  and  winning 
his  love. 

For  love  of  him  and  for  love  of  God, 
Joline,  as  the  seasons  went  by,  worked 
from  morn  till  night  and  by  candle-light 
to  earn  an  honest  living.  She  worked  in 
fields,  and  she  worked  in  factories.  She 
washed  and  scrubbed  and  churned.  She 
hoed  and  sowed,  pulled  weeds  and 
picked  berries.  She  stitched  miles  of 
seams  in  close  tailor  shops.  She  pulled 
65 


THE   ROSE-BUSH   OF 

plows  in  harness  with  cattle.  Hitched 
up  with  a  dog,  she  carted  vegetables  to 
town.  She  nursed  the  sick  and  minded 
babies.  She  crocheted  shawls  and  mit 
tens,  and  knitted  stockings  by  the  gross. 
She  chopped  wood  and  piled  it  up.  She 
boiled  soft  soap  in  great  iron  kettles  out 
of  doors.  She  whitewashed  fences.  She 
tended  coke-ovens  through  the  night. 
She  raised  pigs  and  helped  to  butcher 
them.  She  raised  flowers  too,  when  she 
could — white  roses,  nothing  else;  and 
whenever  they  bloomed  and  she  handled 
them,  Joline  thanked  God  that  her  eyes 
had  seen  and  her  hands  had  touched  the 
Rose-Bush  of  a  Thousand  Years. 

And  this  was  what  she  was  doing  once 
when  a  strolling  artist  saw  her,  watched 
her  for  a  moment  and  then,  unstrapping 
his  sketch-box,  called  from  the  roadway: 

"Please  stay  as  you  are,  my  good 
woman.  I'll  pay  you  five  marks  for  the 
pose." 

Joline  looked  up  at  him  startled;  she 
swayed  for  a  moment  well-nigh  over- 
66 


A  THOUSAND  YEARS 

come  by  old  memories.  Her  lips  moved 
to  frame  an  answer,  but  suddenly  they 
closed,  as  tho  forever. 

She  made  no  reply,  but  plainly  un 
derstood  his  offer,  and  acquiesced  most 
satisfactorily  to  the  artist.  She  looked 
steadfastly  at  her  rose-bush,  and  was 
soon  again,  in  thought  and  memory,  on 
her  knees  in  the  monastery  garden. 

This  artist  had  strange  ideas.  Some 
of  his  friends  called  him  a  pupil  of 
Wiertz.  He  painted  the  eccentric.  Ac 
cording  to  his  friends  you  never  could 
tell  what  he  would  attempt  next,  but 
you  could  wager  your  handkerchief  at  a 
funeral  that  it  would  not  be  what  you, 
or  I,  or  the  gendarme  on  the  corner, 
would  call  beautiful. 

He  saw  something  now  in  Joline's 
face  that  appealed  to  him.  It  was  no 
longer  a  pretty  face,  nor  a  very  young 
face,  but  there  was — a  something. — As 
he  saw  her  tenderly  regarding  that  rose 
bush,  an  idea  occurred  to  him. 

He  showed  his  sketch  that  evening 
67 


THE   ROSE-BUSH   OF 

to  a  brother  artist;  they  were  3oing 
Alsace  and  stopping  at  the  Brumath 
Inn. 

"What  will  you  call  it?"  he  was 
asked  as  they  studied  the  worn,  medita 
tive  figure  on  the  canvas. 

"The  Madonna  of  the  Rose-bush," 
was  the  quiet  reply. 

The  younger  man  gave  an  exclama 
tion  of  impatience. 

"Who  ever  heard  of  a  Madonna  as 
old  as  that?" 

"And  who  ever  heard  that  she  died 
young?"  retorted  the  painter.  "It  is 
high  time  she  was  painted  as  she  ap 
peared  in  her  mature  years,  crowned 
with  sorrow.  You  notice  here  that  she 
is  not  looking  at  the  roses,  but  at  the 
thorns.  I  believe  the  mother  of  Christ, 
after  the  Crucifixion,  saw  nothing  else 
when  she  looked  at  a  rose-tree  —  saw 
and  felt  only  the  pain  of  the  thorns  on 
His  brow." 

He  kept  Joline  posing  for  several 
days  until  the  picture  was  well  advanced. 
68 


A  THOUSAND   YEARS 

He  little  dreamed  that  she  had  once 
been  a  professional  model,  posing  for 
Bacchantes  and  a  whole  troupe  of  pagan 
deities:  nor  did  it  once  dawn  on  her 
that  she  was  now  posing  again  for  a 
Madonna.  She  doubtless  would  have 
crossed  herself  and  humbly  refused  the 
honor,  had  she  been  told. 

The  unknown  painter  soon  packed  up 
his  palette  and  canvas  and  returned  to 
Paris  where  he  finished  his  picture  in  a 
whirl  of  enthusiastic  determination. 

Three  months  later  he  had  the  joy 
and  triumph  of  seeing  his  Madonna  of 
the  Rose-bush  acclaimed  in  the  Salon  as 
a  masterpiece. 

Then  it  was  that  it  occurred  to  him 
to  astonish  the  humble  original  of  the 
picture  with  an  invitation  to  come  to 
Paris  and  see  herself  as  others  saw  her. 
This  idea  appealed  to  his  eccentric  sense 
of  humor;  it  also  struck  the  fancy  of 
several  of  his  friends,  among  whom  was 
one  by  the  name  of  Granville,  who  of 
fered  to  contribute  toward  the  "Ma- 
69 


THE   ROSE-BUSH   OF 

donna's"  traveling  expenses.  So  a  care 
fully  worded  letter  was  mailed  to  "Julie 
Hofer"  ( Joline  had  long  since  dropped 
her  Boulevard  name). 

A  week  later  came  a  reply  from  the 
"Madonna."  Amid  high  hilarity,  much 
tobacco-smoke  and  a  round  of  unholy 
jests,  the  missive  was  torn  open  and  read 
aloud. 
"CHER  MONSIEUR: 

"With  much  pleasure  I  learn  of  the 
success  of  your  picture,  and  with  much 
gratitude  I  receive  your  kind  invitation. 
A  journey  in  my  life  would  be  a  great 
event  and  a  great  joy.  But  if  it  is  not 
overbold  and  rude,  may  I  beg  to  say 
that  my  one  desire  is  to  visit,  not  Paris, 
but  the  town  of  Hildesheim,  that  I  may 
kneel  once  again  before  the  Rose-bush 
of  a  Thousand  Years.  I  remain,  Mon 
sieur,  your  humble  servant,  who  will 
thank  you,  Monsieur,  with  a  thousand 
prayers,  if  you  find  it  in  your  power  to 
grant  this  one  great  wish  of 

JULIE  HOFER." 
70 


A  THOUSAND   YEARS 

However  much  Joline  had  been  aston 
ished  to  receive  the  invitation,  it  was  as 
nothing  to  the  astonishment  now  aroused 
by  her  answer.  Such  an  amazing  let 
ter  from  a  peasant! — and  such  a  strange 
request! 

One  in  that  group  held  the  letter 
open  in  his  hand  a  full  half-hour  with 
out  speaking.  He  was  studying  the 
handwriting — and  thinking,  thinking  of 
Hildesheim;  of  his  stay  there,  years 
ago;  of  the  Rose-bush  and  the  picture 
he  had  painted  (a  flat  failure)  and  of 
Joline ;  that  will-o'-the-wisp,  who  so  un 
ceremoniously  had  left  him — with  an 
other  man  as  he  supposed.  He  looked 
again  at  the  letter;  the  sentiment  it  ex 
pressed.  Something  about  it  made  him 
handle  the  paper  tenderly.  He  asked 
permission  to  keep  it  a  day  or  two. 

The  next  morning  Granville  went  to 
the  Salon  and  studied  long  a  certain 
picture  showing  the  face  of  a  tired, 
thoughtful  peasant  woman.  Could  it 
be — ?  But  of  course,  such  a  thing  was 
71 


THE   ROSE-BUSH   OF 

impossible — Joline  and  this — ?  No — 
it  was  altogether  absurd,  but  still  curi 
osity  got  the  better  of  him. 

Granville  went  himself  to  Brumath 
to  "escort  the  Madonna  to  Hildesheim," 
as  he  jocosely  told  the  little  group  who 
had  read  the  letter;  he  said  he  was  in 
need  of  those  "thousand  prayers"  she 
had  promised. 

It  was  merely  the  impulse  of  an  ad 
venturer — of  a  seeker  of  quixotic  ex 
perience—that  impelled  Granville  to  in 
vestigate  this  mysterious  "Julie  Hofer." 

If  it  were  really  Joline  —  well  —  it 
would  be  an  interesting  denouement  to 
the  play — that's  all.  To  find  how  ill 
she  had  fared  since  leaving  him — there 
would  be  a  bit  of  satisfaction  in  that. 
He  would  play  the  Grand  Homme,  take 
her  to  Hildesheim,  give  her  some  money 
and  feel  himself  quite  a  saint. 

His  first  sight  of  Joline  was  a  shock. 
She  was  scrubbing  the  floor  of  her  hum 
ble  cottage.  The  door  was  open  and 
she  did  not  see  him.  He  watched  for 
72 


A  THOUSAND   YEARS 

some  moments  and  at  last  spoke  the 
name  —  "Jolme,"  tho  he  was  not  yet 
sure.  She  looked  up,  plainly  startled. 

No  doubt  now  of  her  identity.  She 
recognized  him.  But  she  evinced  neither 
•joy  nor  dismay.  He  spoke  quietly : 

"I  am  sorry  for  you,  Joline;  I  wish 
to  help  you." 

Joline  now  stood  up,  set  aside  the 
scrubbing  pail,  readjusted  her  clean 
apron  and  replied  with  even  tones : 

"There  is  no  need  of  pity,  and  no 
need  of  help.     I  am  poor  in  one  way, 
but  very  rich  in  another.     I  have  that* 
which  money  can  not  buy." 

"And  what  is  that?"  he  asked,  still 
standing  outside;  she  had  not  invited 
him  in. 

She  looked  full  upon  him  now,  with 
deep,  untroubled  eyes. 

"A  good  conscience."  She  spoke  the 
words  very  solemnly. 

Granville  hardly  knew  how  to  take 
this.  It  was  a  rather  bewildering  de 
nouement. 

73 


THE    ROSE-BUSH    OF 

"Is  this  why  you  wish  to  visit  the 
Rose-bush  of  Hildesheim?  I  have  come 
to  take  you  there." 

Joline's  tense  repose  was  gone  in  an 
instant.  Her  delight  at  this  news  was 
to  Granville  the  most  astonishing  phase 
of  their  meeting. 

The  sight  of  him  after  many  years 
had  aroused  no  animation,  but  the  mere 
thought  of  the  sacred  rose-bush  had 
called  forth  much  of  the  old  time  charm 
and  vivacity  he  so  well  remembered. 
She  invited  him  in,  hastened  to  make 
tea,  plied  him  with  questions  about  the 
trip.  When  would  they  leave?  How 
long  would  it  take?  And  did  he  sup 
pose  the  same  old  prior  would  be  there  ? 
And  did  he  know  whether  the  bush  had 
bloomed  since  that  year? 

They  started  the  next  day,  and 
throughout  the  journey  a  growing  ec 
stasy  illumined  her  face  as  every  hour 
drew  her  nearer  to  the  scene  of  her 
holiest  memories.  She  told  Granville 
all  her  wondrous  experience,  her  sud- 
74 


A   THOUSAND   YEARS 

den  awakening  to  repentance  and  the 
inspired  words  of  the  old  Prior. 

"And  you  have  never  faltered?" 
asked  Granville,  amazed. 

"Never." 

"And  you  are  happy?" 

She  answered  very  seriously: 

"Yes.", 

Granville  was  silenced  into  thought- 
fulness. 

They  reached  Hildesheim  and  lost  no 
time  in  seeking  the  monastery  garden 
and  above  all  the  ancient  Prior.  Was 
he  still  alive?  Would  he  see  her? 
Would  he  remember  her?  Joline  was 
trembling  with  eagerness  and  entreaty. 
She  must  see  him.  He  surely  could  not 
refuse  her.  Twice  she  sent  her  message 
explaining  who  she  was  and  at  last  he 
came  forth,  more  feeble  than  when  last 
she  saw  him,  but  still  possest  of  those 
wondrous,  all-seeing,  all-forgiving  eyes. 

Joline  fell  on  her  knees  as  he  ap 
proached,  and  there,  under  God's  clear 
sky,  before  the  sacred  rose-bush,  she  told 
75 


JHE   ROSE-BUSH   OF 

the  story  of  her  life  since  that  hour 
when  the  priest  had  blessed  her.  With 
tears  in  her  eyes  she  told  it,  and  held 
up  to  him  her  work-worn  hands. 

"Look  at  them,  Father:  they  were 
white  and  soft  when  last  you  saw  them." 

He  touched  them  gently. 

"Hands  worn  and  torn  by  labor  are 
hallowed  by  their  resemblance  to  the 
wounded  hands  of  the  Crucified  One. 
TO  me  they  are  beautiful." 

Granville,  standing  aside  in  the  shad- 
bws  of  the  pillared  cloister,  a  witness 
to  this  scene  of  a  soul's  unveiling,  wiped 
tears  from  his  eyes,  and  soon  found 
himself  shaken  by  emotion  so  over 
powering  that  he  leaned  against  the  wall 
and  buried  his  face  in  his  arms,  his 
shoulders  heaving  with  great  sobs. 

When  the  priest  had  given  his  bless 
ing  and  gone,  Granville  rushed  forward 
and  grasped  Joline's  roughened  hand. 
He  pressed  it  reverently  to  his  lips. 

"Joline,  I  need  you." 

He  ejaculated  the  words  brokenly. 
76 


A  THOUSAND   YEARS 

"Teach  me  to  be  good,  to  be  worthy 
of  that  old  priest's  blessing.  I  want 
your  hand  to  lead  me." 

Again  sobs  overcame  him;  he  kneeled 
at  her  feet,  hiding  his  tears  in  the  folds 
of  her  faded  gown.  She  comforted  him 
as  a  mother  might,  and  caressed  his 
bowed  head  as  one  would  a  tired  child. 

He  arose  strangely  strengthened. 

They  walked  away  from  the  Cathe 
dral  in  a  mood  of  tranquil  peace,  hand 
in  hand  like  two  children. 


77 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 


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